‘Complete fabrication,’ Kaz said. ‘The Library outgrew its old location, so the Curators moved it here. Guess they wanted a place where they could hollow out as much ground as they wanted. It’s kind of tough to find room inside a big city to store every book ever written.
‘Every book?’
‘Of course,’ Kaz said. ‘That’s the point of this place. It’s a storage of all knowledge ever recorded.’
Suddenly, things started to make sense. ‘That’s why my father came here and why Grandpa Smedry followed! Don’t you see! My father can read texts in the Forgotten Language now; he has a set of Translator’s Lenses like mine, forged from the Sands of Rashid.’
‘Yes,’ Kaz said. ‘And?’
‘And so he came here,’ I said, looking at the stairway leading into the darkness. ‘He came for knowledge. Books in the Forgotten Language. He could study them here, learn what the ancient people – the Incarna – knew.’
Australia and Kaz shared a glance.
‘That’s . . . not really all that likely, Alcatraz,’ Australia said.
‘Why not?’
‘The Curators gather the knowledge,’ Kaz said, ‘but they’re not that great at sharing. They’ll let you read a book, but they charge a terrible cost.’
I felt a chill. ‘What cost?’
‘Your soul,’ Australia said. ‘You can read one book, then you become one of them, to serve in the Library for eternity.’
Great, I thought, glancing at Kaz. The shorter man looked troubled. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘I know your father, Al. We grew up together – he’s my brother.’
‘And?’
‘He’s a true Smedry. Just like your grandfather. We don’t tend to think things through. Things like charging into danger, like infiltrating Libraries, or . . .’
‘Like reading a book that will cost you your soul?’
Kaz looked away. ‘I don’t think he’d be that stupid. He’d get the knowledge he wanted, but he’d never be able to share it or use it. Even Attica wouldn’t get that hungry for answers.’
The comment begged another question. If he didn’t come for a book, then why visit? I thought.
Draulin and Bastille arrived a few moments later. Now, you might have noticed something important. Look up the name Draulin on your favorite search engine. You won’t get many results, and the ones you do get will probably be typos, not prisons. (Though, the two are related in that they are both things I tend to be affiliated with far too often.) Either way, there’s no prison named Draulin, though there is one named Bastille.
(That last bit about the names – that is foreshadowing. So don’t say I never give you anything.)
‘Perimeter is secure,’ Draulin said. ‘No guards.’
‘There never are,’ Kaz said, glancing back at the stairs. ‘I’ve been here half a dozen times – mostly due to getting lost – though I’ve never gone in. The Curators don’t guard the place. They don’t need to – anyone who tries to steal even a single book will automatically lose their soul, whether they know about the rules or not.’
I shivered.
‘We should camp here,’ Draulin said, glancing over at the rising sun. ‘Most of us didn’t get any sleep last night, and we shouldn’t go down into the Library without our wits about us.’
‘Probably a good idea,’ Kaz said, yawning. ‘Plus, we don’t really know if we need to go in. Al, you said my father visited this place. Did he go in?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t tell for certain.’
‘Try the Lenses again,’ Australia said, nodding encouragingly – sometimes that appeared to be one of her favorite gestures.
I was still wearing the Courier’s Lenses; as before, I tried to contact my grandfather. All I received was a low buzz and a kind of wavering fuzz in my vision. ‘I’m trying,’ I said. ‘All I get is a blurry fuzz. Anyone know what that means?’
I glanced at Australia. She shrugged – for an Oculator, she sure didn’t seem to know much. Then, I was one too, and I knew even less, so it was a little hard to judge.
‘Don’t ask me,’ Kaz said. ‘That ability skipped me, fortunately.’